2007-11-30: A Cure?


Cass_icon.gif Samantha_icon.gif Namir_icon.gif


Samantha's pharmaceutical contacts pull through and come up with a prototype cure. They test it on the guinea pig known as Namir.

November 30th, 2007:

A Cure?

Bat Country Labs

It's been busy at Bat Country, mostly because there are patients here again and Cass doesn't like to leave them along for very long. There was that excitement with Jack on her way home the other night and past that it's mostly just been a waiting game for Samantha's contacts at the pharmaceutical companies to pull through. She knows where she'll go for a last resort if she has to, but she's not sure she's willing to put people at risk by going there. If it will save their life, though…she'll do it. All that nervous energy has kept her up and on her feet and as she looks over everything for what must be the billionth time today (tonight? who can tell what time of day it is underground) her foot shakes and taps against the wooden bar of the stool she perches on.

Enter the Sam. Enter also the Namir, who may or may not know why he's here, but hey, since he has a habit of tagging along and Sam didn't object vociferously, he may think something is up. Sam is carrying one of those metal style cases with a handle on it, embossed with a medical equipment stamp along its side. "Cass!" she calls out. "I've got the first prototype. You around?"

Since he's home sick from work and has been for at least a week, Namir needs to tag along, otherwise there will be more appliances taken apart in the house. Which, by the way, is shiny sparkly and clean and well-organized thanks to the aforementioned week Namir has spent home from work. When he's got nothing to do but lay around being sick and when being sick means losing sleep, he tends to go a little bit OCD. Even now, standing in the lab and half-listening to the conversation, he's eyeing everything in a way that suggests he's probably organizing and setting everything to rights in his mind.

"Oh thank God," Cass says, perhaps loudly enough for Samantha to hear and perhaps not. All but rocketing out of her seat and dashing over to greet the now familiar face of Samantha and the almost familiar face of Namir, she looks relieved and as if a large decision has suddenly been lifted off her shoulders. Because, well, it has! Knowing that they have a prototype, that they might be able to cure Namir, she's ecstatic. "That's amazing, Samantha. Come in, come in both of you. I've got the coffee pot that never empties still going if you'd like some." Or they could get right to making sure it cures Namir. She's up for either.

"So the question becomes, who do we test it on?" Already, Sam is tilting her head in Namir's direction. She's not going to insist though. He might!

Test tubes go over there, arranged by size an— Namir snaps out of it when he discovers there's a question hanging in the air. He glances from one woman to the next as it sinks in, then grunts, "I certainly don't have anything better to do." Sure, they were probably going to test it on him anyway, but at least this way, he gets to pretend it was his idea.

Luckily Namir isn't actually/ trying to rearrange Cass' lab or he'd be getting the 'oh God he's crazy' look from the bookstore owner. While she may have flatout asked Namir if he would like to try the cure out, she's not about to force him, either. It's everyone's own choice if they'd like to be a guinea pig for a cure! Who knows the after affects. Of course, Cass is hoping there won't //be any side affects. "Yours was part of the blood that was the original sample, after all," Cass adds. "If you're sure, then, I can get you something to drink? Or something and then we can start?"

"I think he'd be happier," Translation: Sam would be happier because oh god after he re-arranged the catfood in alphabetical order by flavor and she's going batshit crazy, "if we went right to it. It's an injection, and you were right, according to the pharmco, we should see some results within minutes."

"I'm fine. Let's just get this over with." Namir would normally be much nicer, but he's tired and he's feverish, and that makes him grumpy. So he heads to a stool and starts to strip off jacket, sweater … other sweater … shirt … other shirt. He's been having the chills, obviously. Stripping stops at the tanktop, though. He doesn't want to be totally indecent here.

My, someone really likes to dress warmly. Not that Cass can blame him. In fact, she'd prefer that he wrap himself up if he has this virus. She's seen the beginning stages of it quite well from Nathan and Elena and Peter and Evelyn. Waiting for him to strip down, she moves to get a glass of water for him anyway, since he has a lot to go through. Once that's done, she looks over toward Samantha. Is she going to administer it or should she? She is the ER doctor and his fiancee.

"Pass me some gloves, would you Cass?" Hell yeah, Sam's going to do the deed. If anyone's going to kill her fiance, it's going to be her. She's nervous about it, from the way she keeps worrying her lip, but she's a professional, goddammit. She opens the clasps on the briefcase, it releases with a soft hiss. Embedded in soft material is a needle with a vial full of liquidy cure stuff.

At least when Namir shivers, it's not from nervousness. Truth be told, he would rather it be him they tested it on than someone else. That way he suffers whatever adverse effects and they can work on making it safe for the rest. Which doesn't mean he's not nervous, just overcome with an overdeveloped hero complex. He can, however, tell that Sam is nervous and eyes the syringe. "You and your needles," he utters.

See, this is why it can be scary to try and test out a cure on a loved one. Of course, it may not be any easier on a complete stranger, though. Getting the box of gloves, she sets it down on the counter along with the water for Namir. Too bad she doesn't have a shot or something to calm his nerves. Not that she knows he doesn't drink. And as this is all an internal monologue in her head, it doesn't matter. "Here you go." Cass is just as nervous, because she doesn't want anything bad to happen, but also because she really wants this to work, for him to be cured so they can cure everyone.

Besides, alcohol + medication = Of the bad. Sam puts on the gloves, snapping them against her wrists as a matter of habit, and perhaps a way of whistling in the dark. Then she gingerly picks up the needle. Moving to his side, she takes wedges his arm against her body and begins to thump her finger against his skin, looking for arteries and veins to emerge. Then, lifting her eyes to Namir, "You ready?"

"Thank you." This said to Cass when she gives him a glass of water. He takes it in his free hand, but doesn't drink it. It's more something to hang onto than something to drink right now. Turning his attention back to Sam, Namir turns his other hand to rest his palm against her when she takes his arm — a subtle comforting gesture. It's going to be okay. "If you are." It's not too difficult to find a vein, and he keeps his eyes locked on her face.

Samantha gives him a faint smile. "I love you." she says sofly, and then with lips pressed thin, slides the needle into Namirs skin and injects the potential cure.
And this is where Cass steps back and just tries to stay out of their moment. While at the same time seem poised and ready for action should anything happen. She's not sure what that is, exactly, but she's ready for it. For once she's the silent one, standing in the back.

There's only a faint catch in Namir's breath when the needle goes in, and he seems much more sedate once it's all over. Of course, that probably just means he's even more tense. He smirks a little and mutters, "You always do it so well." He'd kiss her if he wasn't afraid of making her sick, so instead he turns his head to finally take a sip from the water. Not thirsty, but it gives him something to do with himself. "What should I be looking for?"

Finally, something that she can answer. Cass leans gently against the counter behind her and just watches Namir. Not like a hawk or anything, but she's extra-attentive, trying to see if his coloring returns, see if he'll stop shivering. Hopefully the same things like what happened when Peter was cured. "Well, you should stop feeling cold, your fever should go away and while you probably won't feel stronger right away, you should stop feeling like you have the flu."
"Just give it a few minutes." counsels Sam. She looks to Cass. "Have you heard anything about those men who tried to get in here?"

Namir obviously doesn't feel anything yet. Just cold. He reaches for his jacket to help with that and listens for the answer to that question. He's been a bit curious himself.

The wait is really the worst part. For now she manages to not tap anything like her fingers or her toes or anything else. Instead, she merely waits and leans and talks to Samantha. "Not yet. The police are looking into it, though. Hopefully they'll find out more. For now I'm just going to keep tighter eye out and wait to hear for something." She wishes that she was more surprised or rattled by this new intrusion, but with everything else that has happened and that is going on, she's not, really. Just wary.

Samantha absently reaches out, presses her hand to Namir's forehead. He feels a little cooler, but it could be wishful thinking. "Got a thermometer?" she asks, adding slyly, "Don't worry honey, clinics don't use anal anymore." Heehee.

Har har. "My mother used to check our temperature by kissing our foreheads, you know," Namir retorts innocently.
Or at least Cass doesn't use them. Moving for a the thermometer with the nifty disposable covers, she hands it over to Samantha so that she can start taking temperatures and hopefully, see if this has worked.

Samantha grumbles a little and ignores Namir's kvetching. "Tongue up." she instructs, and once his mouth is open, she pops the thermometer in. Over her shoulder to Cass, "He's not collapsing in agony. That's a good sign."

Namir does as he's told and, since he's got a thermometer in his mouth, he can't say much. He's shivering less, though, and some color is starting to return to his face. More importantly, the thermometer's reading is lower than it has been all week, and steadily dropping to something far more normal.

Not collapsing in agony is definitely a good sign and Cass smiles a bit at Samantha at the observation. "Always good. Also, no bleeding from the eyes or something." Not that that was ever a concern, but she's trying to lighten the mood here. Waiting for Samantha to read the thermometer, she takes a tighter grip of her arms in an effort to keep herself from fidgeting. That's the last thing she wants to show herself doing now.

Samantha takes the thermometer out, and relief floods her voice. "His temperature's gone down." she announces. "We need to monitor him, maybe overnight, but if by morning he's better, we can call the pharmco and tell them to push production."

Not only is Namir looking better, he's feeling a lot better too. Not well enough to run out and do a mile or fight crime, but definitely well enough to sleep and not drive Sam insane by rearranging her sock drawer. He smiles. "I do feel a lot be— "

But then he stops abruptly with a pained expression on his face. And with a low groan, he doubles over, clutching his stomach.

That's certainly a good thing. Feeling better, looking bet—-when he looks pained and doubling over, Cass immediately steps forward to make sure she can catch him in case he slips off that stool onto the floor. "What is it? What's in pain?" Because she can kind of guess that it's the stomach, but she's going to need a bit more of a description in order to figure out how to help.

"Oh my god. Namir?" Alarmed, Sam comes around to the side he's leaning over. "What's wrong?" He's not hooked up into anything, so she has nothing to guage but his pain level.

That's all right, because he's not actually in any pain. He probably will be in about five seconds, because soon the groans of pain turn into barely-restrained snickers and the grimace becomes twitching corners of the mouth. Then they turn into cackles and the grin comes forth. Obviously he's feeling well enough to be a complete bastard once again.

The grin. There's a grin. And since Cass doesn't know Namir well enough to know his sense of humor, she holds on to him long enough just to figure out what's going on until she unceremoniously let's go. "That is not exactly funny." And no, she's not laughing.

No, it's not funny. "Do you remember that sex we were going to have ever again?" Sam snarls in disgust.

Oh hey now. None of that. Namir is still grinning, but the laughter dies off. "Oh come on, I was joking," he panders. But no, they're not laughing. He raises his hands palms out and fingers spread in a sign of acquiescence. "All right, all right, I'm sorry." He does sound sincere, at least, even more so when he adds to Sam, "I'm sorry, habibti." And now the grin is gone. Except for the tiniest of smirks deep within the recesses of his face.

It's not funny when they're worried about side effects and the virus and possible death. Especially when Cass thinks that they're so close to a cure she can taste it and then Namir pretends to pass out. Her heart rate is starting to get back to normal, and she takes a deep breath. "Drug side affects are not good. Not even jokingly."

Samantha takes a moment to breathe, because if she doesn't, she'll tear all his hair out. "Let's get a room set up for him to be comfortable during observation period?" she suggests. She gives him a wolf smile, all teeth. Take that.

Oh what?! "We can observe me just fine at home," Namir interjects as he starts reaching for his shirt(s) and sweater(s). "That's where I'll be comfortable." To Cass he adds even more apologetically, "I feel fine, really. A little weak still, but much better than I did this time last week."

"Well, that may be the case now, but side affects can hit at any point." Plus, he was mean and decided to take advantage of their hope of a cure. So he can be uncomfortable. And share a room with Cam. "There's a cot he can sleep on in the other room." Which will be good for him. "And it's better to have you here were we can keep an eye on you and where the hospital is right above us. Just in case."

"We don't have the right monitoring equipment at home, it's here." Sam points out sweetly. Medical necessity revenge is sweet. "And ooh, you'll have company. You love kids."

And this is why one does not pay pranks on doctors and researchers. Namir gives Sam a very unamused sort of look. Kinda like the one she was giving him earlier, only with less hair-ripping intentions. "I love you more." And he hates hospitals. It's worse than home. At least he has XBox and other things to occupy him at home. He glances at both women before he adds, "I may still be a little weak, but I would bet I'm strong enough to take you both on." Yeah, no, probably not. But he's not staying here without a fight.

Cass gives Namir a raised eyebrow. "I have sedatives," she tells him in a dry tone. She wins. And since they've both made up their mind to make him stay here, well, she should go and get that ready. "I'll go get your bed ready."

"She has sedatives." Sam replies, almost in unison with Cass.

Damn it. Namir frowns after Cass and, once she's out of the room, he turns a scowl on Sam. "Well aren't you so clever," he grunts. Bitter? Yeaaaah. He'll get over it.

Samantha gives a mild shrug. "It'd be necessary even if you didn't just act like a jack ass." she tells him. Not five minutes before she told him she loved him. Which she still does. But…jackass.

"Mm-hmm." Namir doesn't believe her. Or actually he does. He's just being a jackass. "I thought you loved me." When all else fails, send them on a guilt trip. He lays it on thick, complete with a reproachful and hurt frown. If she loved him, she'd take him home.

"I do." Samantha replies, unperturbed. Namir is neither female nor Jewish nor her mother or grandmother. FAIL.

And before there can be any more pouting or guilt trips, Cass is back with the good news (depending on who you are). "Bed's ready." It really doesn't takes that long to toss on some clean sheets and fluff up a pillow.

One day. One day, Namir is going to win an argument. And that day will be a good day. He rises to his feet with a resigned sigh and dips his head to give Sam a quick peck on the temple. It's not on the lips and he's as good as cured. He's allowed. "Then it's a good thing I love you so much," he grunts. Then a glance toward Cass. "Lead the way."

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